


Sammy's "Little" Problem

by Himrqwerty



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Bad Father John Winchester, Big Brother Dean, Dean does the right goddamned thing and saves Sammy the right goddamned way, Gen, Hurt Sammy, Hurt/Comfort, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-01
Updated: 2014-09-17
Packaged: 2018-02-06 23:05:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1875900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Himrqwerty/pseuds/Himrqwerty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Winchester is a literal piece of shit, and one time, he hurts Sammy so bad it gets him started into bad habits. Dean - thankfully - pulls him out, saves him, and learns his goddamn lesson.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Digging my fingers into my still throbbing knee, fresh stabbing pain makes my eyes water and heat drive down my calf. Though my eyes are almost overflowing, I don't move my hand from the spot, creating what I'm sure will be a nasty bruise.  
The pain takes away the horrible ache in my heart and, more importantly, Lucifer. Lucy still popped up sometimes, not often though. Pain always helps.  
I remove my hand from the spot when the pain stops increasing and levels out.  
The pain fades too quickly.  
Eyes flicking to the clock, I figure I've got at least an hour before Dean comes back, if he doesn't go home with another girl.  
My hands are shaking, itching to grab Ruby's knife, to give myself relief the only way I know how. I rub my shaking hands over the many scars on my thighs, ranging in size and thickness, hoping to ease the itch.  
It doesn't work.  
Giving in, I berate myself all the way to the bathroom, snagging Ruby's knife - the demon knife. It has always hurt a bit more, probably from all the demon blood I've taken in, even though I've been dry for a long time.  
I turn the water on to the hottest possible and fill the bottom of the tub just enough to cover my feet. I pull of my jeans and roll up my boxers. I sit gingerly on the edge of the bath, letting my feet scald. My hands trace my scars as I remember how it all started.  
*3rd Person*  
It was back with John, Sam was 14. Dean was out hustling the bars, it was just the eldest and the youngest Winchester - a disaster waiting to happen, they both knew it. Sam was on his bed, doing homework.  
"Sammy," John called. "I think I've got us a job. Come over here and start research." John ordered.  
"Yessir, let me just finish this sheet." Sad said, not even bothering to argue, wanting to keep the peace.  
"No, you'll do it now. Hunting's more important than school." Sam's dad bit back, scorn filling his voice at the mention of school work.  
"Sir, I'm almost done. Two minutes." Sam said, biting his cheek to refrain from telling his often-absent father he didn't give a damn about hunting.  
"No. Now." John retorted, quickly getting furious.  
The argument escalated to a full-on shouting match, ending with John holding Sam by his scruff up against a wall. They were nose to nose, Sam's eyes filled with fear instead of defiance, John's with fury.  
"Please" was all Sam got out, before John raised his fist, throwing it towards Sam's face.  
Sam's eye began to purple immediately.  
Not caring that his son had long since learned the lesson, John hit Sam again and again, Sam only getting out small words between sobs.  
"Please-" "Stop-" "I'll listen!" 'Anything!"  
Sam's tears only made John more furious, Sam is a Winchester, he should take a beating like one.  
Sam is curled into a little ball, shielding his face and stomach from the blows, when Dean walks in. John stops immediately. Instantly, Dean knows what happened. Worry and pure anger filling his eyes and his fists clenching, Dean decides to focus on his severely injured baby brother, gently leading Sam to the bathroom, handing him a rag and telling him to clean up.  
It was only after Dean softly shut the bathroom door that he spun around to yell at his father, the person that he worshipped.  
Instead of cleaning his wounds and wrapping what is most likely a broken rib or two, Sam sat staring in the mirror, the things his father yelled at him echoing through his mind.  
"Useless" "More like Dean" "Your fault she's dead" "Just leave" "Gonna get Dean killed" "This is your fault"  
and the worst, "Stupid!" Of all the awful things he had been called, stupid wasn't one of them. Even his father, who seemed to under appreciate and take Sam for granted at every turn, had always been proud of Sam's intelligence.  
Until now, it seems.  
Sam reached down to his sock and pulled out his butterfly knife.  
Tears streaming down his face, Sam sliced his thighs viciously, just wanting those words out of his mind.  
Shaking myself out of my stupor, my mind returns to my body, only to see fifteen or sixteen deep slashes on my thighs. The bath water was already tinged pink, which wasn't a good thing.  
"There's no way I'm going to be able to hide this." I realized, it hitting me like a ton of bricks.  
"Just finish it" a voice in my head told me, sounding suspiciously like my dead father.  
For the first time in my life, I listened.  
I took the knife in my shaking hands, my sight clouded with tears, and slit my arm from my elbow to my wrist.  
I no longer had the strength to stay on the bath, so I slid in with a splash, more of my blood and tears and snot mixing with the bathwater, which had long since cooled down.  
The last thing I do before losing consciousness is hear Dean come in, dead drunk.


	2. Hope

The first thing I register is the muted pain in my arm indicating the good stuff - goddammit, hospital - and the apparent full body transformation into steel.

When I drag my eyes open, I’m in a hospital.

Blindingly white and disturbingly empty.

No matter how mad Dean is - assuming I’m alive - he is always with me in the hospital. Even that one time in Stanford - still no idea how he knew - but he’s always with me.

“Dean?” I call, my heart racing. “Dean!” I shout again, my throat dry. 

A nurse pokes her head into the room, and her curious gaze softens. 

“Hey, honey. Is it ok if I call you Sam?” She asks, hesitantly.

“Where’s Dean?” I ask, disregarding her question. “Is he ok? What happened? Where is he?” My voice escalates into a hoarse scream, and my heart monitor blares. 

“Calm down Sam. I can’t tell you anything until you’ve calmed down.” She tells me sternly.

Thank god she doesn’t try to touch me. I would’ve bit her. 

By the time I’ve managed to calm down, I realize that the pounding in my ears has turned into real pounding. Dean bursts in the door, panting, eyes wide. 

“SAMMY!” He crushes me into a huge hug, running a hand through my hair. “God, Sammy.”

“Dean?” I ask hesitantly. “Dean, as much as I enjoy this, it hurts.”

He backs off immediately, looking at me with concerned eyes.

“What happened?” I ask. As soon as the words fall off of my tongue, I remember, and they gain a thousand tonnes. “Oh, god.” I breathe.

“‘Oh, god’ is right, Sam! What the hell, man?” Dean asks, clearly frustrated.

“How long was I out?” I ask.

He glares, but doesn’t push for an answer. “Almost twelve hours. Man, you had me really worried.”

“Can we go back to the motel?” I ask.

Dean sighs, but nods. “But, under conditions.” He says firmly, in a way that even I know is useless to fight against.

Despite it, I whine. “Deeean...”

He throws me a sharp look and continues as if I didn’t say anything. “First, we are so talking about this when we get back. Second, you are letting me stop us hunting if-” I open my mouth to protest, but Dean silences me with a look. “If I deem it necessary. Got it? If you don’t, you are staying here. And we’ll do those anyway.” He tells me firmly.

I sigh. “Fine.” I say petulantly.

“Good. Let’s blow this popsicle stand.”

The ride back to the grungy motel is painfully quiet, but I relish it, knowing the bomb that Dean is going to unleash at the motel.

Disturbingly, though, even after we’ve pulled up and gotten out, Dean is silent. I’m suddenly very grateful I’m no longer wearing a monitor, because I’m freaking out. Would he leave me? For this? He might. It’s a very real possibility. 

As my eyes start to fill, Dean breaks the silence with a pain-filled voice.

“Why?”

The one, softspoken, heart wrenching word is so different than I thought it would be, that I break out sobbing. 

Dean pulls me up to the headboard and rocks me through the sobs, and when I’ve finished, looks at me expectantly.

“I just. I can’t.” For the first time, I choke on my words. Explaining this to Dean would be such a monumental task, I don’t know how to, despite having day dreamed about this many times.

“I can’t get them out of my head!” I cry suddenly, my voice cracking at the end.

“Get what out of your head?” Dean asks, looking alarmed.

“What... what he called me.” I steady my voice, explaining further. “That day... he... the day he...” I can’t get it out, but I’ve no doubt Dean knows what I mean.

“The day Dad hit you?” He asks, sadly. 

I softly nod, grateful to not have to say it.

“He... he told me that it’s my fault Mom’s dead. He said I would get you killed.” I sob, tears streaming down my face again.

“Oh, Sammy.” Dean breathes. “Sammy, Sammy, Sammy. Mom loved you. It is no one’s fault but Azazel’s that she is dead, and she would do it again in a heart beat.”

I bury my head into the crook of his shoulder, breathing deeply. Dean smells of gunpowder and car oil and sweat. He smells like home, and it comforts me.

“Besides, Sam. Where the fuck have you been? Have you not seen how many goddamned times you’ve saved my life? Do you know how dead I would be if I didn’t have you? Pretty goddamned dead, that’s how. 

“Dad- Dad was an ass. After Mom, he just. He just fell apart. Doesn’t excuse him, not in the slightest, but he did. Smashed half the time and half drunk the other time just to keep the hangover away. I’m not sure how he survived hunting, let alone make coherent thought. The only goddamn good thing the man did was make you, Sammy. Don’t let him do this to you, please Sammy. Please.”

I wriggle closer to Dean, trying to crawl into him. “He made you, too.” I mumble into Dean’s tear-stained shirt.

“Well. That’s a given, huh Sam?” He says cockily, but his heart isn’t in it.

“Sammy? Promise you won’t do it again?”

“I’ll - I’ll try Dean. But it’s so hard to give it up. Trust, me I’ve tried. It’s an addiction, and honestly, sometimes I think I like it. I like the calm that washes over me.” I tell him.

“Sammy... Will you try? For me?”

Low blow, dude. “For you.” I agree.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ohhhh god I'm such an ass I wrote this a loooong time ago and forgot to post it... don't hate me! I'll post the epilogue RIGHT NOW I PROMISE


	3. Epilogue

*Epilogue*

It’s been four months since I promised Dean I would try to quit self harming, and it’s been the four hardest months of my life. Harder than going to college and harder than losing Jess. The itch to smother all of my emotional pain grows and grows and grows until I become almost catatonic.

Some days, admittedly, it’s easier. Sometimes I turn on crappy TV and I feel a wave of calm wash over me, and for a while both the voices and the itch calm down and fade into background music.

Dean “deemed it necessary” I stop hunting until I sort this shit out.

Honestly, I’m glad he did. 

Dean helps a lot, like he does with everything. Sometimes he just talks to me, and sometimes he gives me training regimes so hard I either pass out or feel Dad’s approving glare on my back. Training was one thing I could never do enough of -- the more I did, the less likely I was to kill Dean.

My brain still works in funny ways, and I’ll probably relapse a couple times, and Dean’ll drive me nuts when I do, but with him here, I’ll be ok.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I POSTED IT YOU'RE WELCOME I'LL GO WORK ON THE OTHER STUFF SORRY


End file.
